Sean has new shoes we purchased for school so he would have new shoes to start the school year. They are red adidas with white stripes and look very much like Sonic the Hedgehog's shoes. This was one of the points which made him choose these. They were also not cheap--cheap shoes would last about 6-8 weeks before sprouting a hole--so I'd like to see him wearing them.
This morning, Sean was grumping and grumbling about getting in the car. (Last year the tardy bell rang at 7:55, so 7:30 was the time I'd start telling him to get shoes and backpack and head to the car. This year the tardy bell rings at 7:45. If we waited till 7:30 to start getting ready, we wouldn't get out the door till 7:40 and he'd be rushing around at school. His sister is attending the same school, and she much prefers to be on the early side of things, so we're usually out the door by 7:20.) When he finally made it into the car, he was wearing his old, dirty beat up shoes. The conversation on the way to school went something like this:
"Why are you wearing your yucky old shoes when you could be wearing your new shoes?"
"[Inaudible grumbling]"
"What? I can't hear what you say when you mumble so quietly."
"I SAID, remember the skin peeling on my feet!" exasperated tone. Sean hates to repeat himself.
"What about the skin peeling on your feet? You need to leave it alone and quit picking at it."
"Ugh!"
"Do you think your new shoes are causing that? That was happening before you even got the new shoes. You need to stop picking."
"Ugh!" [Conversation about when he got shoes, which shoes are we talking about, very confusing and hard to even recall the order] "Remember when we went to the hospital?!"
"When did we go to the hospital??" Completely baffled here. Sean hasn't been to the hospital for himself since he was little for scary episodes of croup and he is certainly too young to remember. "I haven't been to the hospital with you in forever and I don't think you'd remember it. Are you talking about when you went to see Dr. Collings and you had shots?" (This was 3 weeks ago and was just a well-child visit, but we talked about the peeling skin thing then.)
"Ugh! No! Remember when we went to the hospital?" as though by insisting that I remember I'll be able to share the memory to which he's referring.
"No. You haven't been to the hospital." He's getting more and more frustrated, I can't figure out WHAT he's talking about or what it has to do with his peeling feet, and we are now so far away from the subject of the red shoes.
"Remember?? Remember when we went to the hospital?!"
"Sean, are you talking about when we went to Dr. Collings? What does that have to do with your shoes?"
"Ugh! Just forget it."
"Well, just wear your red shoes so we don't have to have this conversation again!" I'm still confused. By the time we got to school he was frustrated with me to the point of tears, but still refused to give me anymore information to help me understand. I was just completely baffled. I still am. He had to be tickled to improve his mood before I let him out of the car.
These types of conversation make me think there's something to that theory of mind concept. The idea that autistics lack empathy because of it is a bunch of bull, but when he genuinely can't seem to understand that I don't know what he's talking about, I wonder if he understands that I'm really not thinking what he's thinking.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Friday, September 24, 2010
Wow. Sorry about that.
I let this go for a while. Well, life got busy, school started, yada yada yada. School is going ok so far. We haven't had a conference yet, but I'm counting on going over our allotted time. Behavior is not where we want it to be, though the teacher doesn't seem that worried about it as of yet.
Sean brought home to me just how visual his thinking is in the second or third week of school when the reading story was about penguins. One of the vocabulary words was "down" meaning the soft fine feathers. As we would go over his vocabulary words he could rattle off the other definitions pretty easily, but I could see the brakes go on when we'd get to down. I asked Sean if it was hard because down can mean something else too. He agreed that it definitely was. I asked him what he sees in his head when he hears the word down. He sees a person or thing falling. Bingo! Thinking in pictures. He has to change gears to remember that "down" in the context of the story does NOT equal a person or thing falling.
In things not necessarily related to Sean, the first month of my term as the Potions professor in the Harry Potter Knit/Crochet House Cup is concluded, and grading was much harder than I anticipated. I managed to complete six classes in the first month as well. I made three hats, a little pouch to hold my stitch holders, a pair of ankle socks, and another We Call Them Pirates Hat. (ravelry link) I don't have big plans for classes this month because I need to get my OWLs to 50% for midterm points. I'm working on a History of Magic OWL and a Transfiguration OWL.
Here are a couple photos of the materials used for my OWLs.
Sean brought home to me just how visual his thinking is in the second or third week of school when the reading story was about penguins. One of the vocabulary words was "down" meaning the soft fine feathers. As we would go over his vocabulary words he could rattle off the other definitions pretty easily, but I could see the brakes go on when we'd get to down. I asked Sean if it was hard because down can mean something else too. He agreed that it definitely was. I asked him what he sees in his head when he hears the word down. He sees a person or thing falling. Bingo! Thinking in pictures. He has to change gears to remember that "down" in the context of the story does NOT equal a person or thing falling.
In things not necessarily related to Sean, the first month of my term as the Potions professor in the Harry Potter Knit/Crochet House Cup is concluded, and grading was much harder than I anticipated. I managed to complete six classes in the first month as well. I made three hats, a little pouch to hold my stitch holders, a pair of ankle socks, and another We Call Them Pirates Hat. (ravelry link) I don't have big plans for classes this month because I need to get my OWLs to 50% for midterm points. I'm working on a History of Magic OWL and a Transfiguration OWL.
Here are a couple photos of the materials used for my OWLs.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Consistently inconsistent.
We've been using that phrase to describe Sean and what works with him since at least Kindergarten if not before. One day you'll think you've had a breakthrough in understanding or behavior. Two days later it's as if it never happened. I find a tool that works one day--like the star-man music, and two days later when I try to use it with him, I get, "Aw, mom!" as if to say, "Mom, that is so five-minutes ago! You're so silly to think that'll work with me again!"
And it happens all. the. time. Hence, the "consistently" in the "inconsistence." Since probably his second case conference, it's been apparent to his teachers and support personnel that they have to have a very full toolbox and to not be afraid to pull out something new when something old doesn't work, but always be willing to go back to that old tool at any point.
Today we visited his brand new school. It is the newest elementary school in our district and this will be its first school year. Fortunately, we get to have our old principal and many of our old teachers. We briefly met with Sean's classroom teacher. We'll have to see how that goes. One concern I have is the sheer SPACE in her room. She has most of the student desks pushed into two large tables and two smaller tables. I worry that Sean will see all that space as room to run. It will be interesting.
We spent a lot of time in the room of his "support specialist" who in former years would probably have been called the resource room teacher, special ed teacher, etc. Apparently, this is the latest terminology, but I like it. It precisely describes her role. When Sean needs additional support for behavior management, sensory breaks, etc. she will be the one to coordinate it and make sure he gets what he needs to succeed. The first thing she did was to let him choose among incentives. He got rid of the stress balls and added theraputty. I think he left the rest the same: legos, read a book, games, and hourglass. He spent a lot of time in her room playing with the hourglasses. I'm not sure what the appeal is, but he enjoyed them. We talked and talked about Sean for quite a while.
I made sure to mention to her his favorite subjects: space, Star Wars, and lately Super Mario Bros. I emphasized that he's really been into Super Mario Bros. so that's a big interest. Of course to prove how consistently inconsistent he can be, what does he want to do when we get home? Make stop-motion Lego Star Wars videos. Right now we're working on a base on Mustafar.
And it happens all. the. time. Hence, the "consistently" in the "inconsistence." Since probably his second case conference, it's been apparent to his teachers and support personnel that they have to have a very full toolbox and to not be afraid to pull out something new when something old doesn't work, but always be willing to go back to that old tool at any point.
Today we visited his brand new school. It is the newest elementary school in our district and this will be its first school year. Fortunately, we get to have our old principal and many of our old teachers. We briefly met with Sean's classroom teacher. We'll have to see how that goes. One concern I have is the sheer SPACE in her room. She has most of the student desks pushed into two large tables and two smaller tables. I worry that Sean will see all that space as room to run. It will be interesting.
We spent a lot of time in the room of his "support specialist" who in former years would probably have been called the resource room teacher, special ed teacher, etc. Apparently, this is the latest terminology, but I like it. It precisely describes her role. When Sean needs additional support for behavior management, sensory breaks, etc. she will be the one to coordinate it and make sure he gets what he needs to succeed. The first thing she did was to let him choose among incentives. He got rid of the stress balls and added theraputty. I think he left the rest the same: legos, read a book, games, and hourglass. He spent a lot of time in her room playing with the hourglasses. I'm not sure what the appeal is, but he enjoyed them. We talked and talked about Sean for quite a while.
I made sure to mention to her his favorite subjects: space, Star Wars, and lately Super Mario Bros. I emphasized that he's really been into Super Mario Bros. so that's a big interest. Of course to prove how consistently inconsistent he can be, what does he want to do when we get home? Make stop-motion Lego Star Wars videos. Right now we're working on a base on Mustafar.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Tee-hee.
So I caught my husband's autism showing last night. We attend Saturday evening church; it's just easier--people are already dressed and there's much less shrillness on my end to get people out the door than there would be Sunday morning. My mother-in-law attends with us, and she was actually instrumental in getting us to try out Saturday evening church in the first place. Before she moved up here, she attended church on Saturday evenings at her home church. Anyway, our daughter didn't feel like going to the children's programming last night, so she came into worship with us. We told her she'd get bored and it wouldn't be nearly as much fun as children's worship, but she was insistent.
As predicted she lost interest shortly after the singing was over and spent some time drawing. She also noticed her dad had his eyes closed and accused him of being asleep. His mom nudges him a lot during services for the same reason. But I know he's not sleeping. He's closing his eyes to shut out the visual stimulation. Our new pastor has a much different style than our now-retired pastor. He is very conversational and paces back and forth using the whole stage much more, whereas the old pastor was more of a behind-the-pulpit speaker. My husband can't watch him and focus on the message. If he watches, all the motion is too distracting for him to concentrate on the sermon.
When we were discussing the sermon this morning--it had a take-home assignment that we were talking about-- he mentioned that Emma thought he was sleeping. I pointed out to him that it was his autism showing, that he was shutting off the visual stimuli so that he could hear the message. He knew what he was doing and why, but hadn't thought about it in relation to the autism spectrum.
It's interesting to consider in what ways we fit on the spectrum. As I've mentioned we're both very introverted and being around groups of people tends to wear us out. With regard to sensory issues, my husband is easily visually overstimulated though he might not characterize it as such. He would just say the movement was distracting or noticing a new detail was distracting. I have a very good sniffer--strong smells that others just barely notice are overwhelming to me. I'm sensory seeking with regards to touch--I can't wait to start working with the alpaca spinning fiber I've recently acquired, btw. Sounds can be painful for me, and slightly off-key singing is highly distracting--I end up noticing the singing more than the message or music of the song.
Socially, I'm uncomfortable with people I don't know and have a hard time with small talk. I don't mean to be snobby or shy; I just don't know what to say. I use my knitting, which is almost always on hand, to insulate me. It will either provide me with something to appear to be busy with so I won't have to talk, or it will provide me something to talk about. I also find it easier to focus in a meeting if my hands can stay busy and give me something to glance at occasionally. Without it my mind would be more likely to wander. Unfortunately, others don't tend to understand this ability to multitask in this manner. They sometimes think I'm focusing on the knitting and not paying attention to them, when the opposite is actually true. The knitting is automatic--it's a muscle memory thing that requires very little in the way of attention--and actually helps me to pay attention better. In school educators refer to these as fidget-toys. Knitting is my fidget-toy.
My husband doesn't always like my methods of fidgeting. If we're watching a movie, he wants to watch it in the dark, which eliminates knitting for the most part. Invariably, I'll end up flicking my fingernails which makes noise and distracts him, or picking at a hangnail or biting my nails which distracts him. If only I had some night-vision goggles....
As predicted she lost interest shortly after the singing was over and spent some time drawing. She also noticed her dad had his eyes closed and accused him of being asleep. His mom nudges him a lot during services for the same reason. But I know he's not sleeping. He's closing his eyes to shut out the visual stimulation. Our new pastor has a much different style than our now-retired pastor. He is very conversational and paces back and forth using the whole stage much more, whereas the old pastor was more of a behind-the-pulpit speaker. My husband can't watch him and focus on the message. If he watches, all the motion is too distracting for him to concentrate on the sermon.
When we were discussing the sermon this morning--it had a take-home assignment that we were talking about-- he mentioned that Emma thought he was sleeping. I pointed out to him that it was his autism showing, that he was shutting off the visual stimuli so that he could hear the message. He knew what he was doing and why, but hadn't thought about it in relation to the autism spectrum.
It's interesting to consider in what ways we fit on the spectrum. As I've mentioned we're both very introverted and being around groups of people tends to wear us out. With regard to sensory issues, my husband is easily visually overstimulated though he might not characterize it as such. He would just say the movement was distracting or noticing a new detail was distracting. I have a very good sniffer--strong smells that others just barely notice are overwhelming to me. I'm sensory seeking with regards to touch--I can't wait to start working with the alpaca spinning fiber I've recently acquired, btw. Sounds can be painful for me, and slightly off-key singing is highly distracting--I end up noticing the singing more than the message or music of the song.
Socially, I'm uncomfortable with people I don't know and have a hard time with small talk. I don't mean to be snobby or shy; I just don't know what to say. I use my knitting, which is almost always on hand, to insulate me. It will either provide me with something to appear to be busy with so I won't have to talk, or it will provide me something to talk about. I also find it easier to focus in a meeting if my hands can stay busy and give me something to glance at occasionally. Without it my mind would be more likely to wander. Unfortunately, others don't tend to understand this ability to multitask in this manner. They sometimes think I'm focusing on the knitting and not paying attention to them, when the opposite is actually true. The knitting is automatic--it's a muscle memory thing that requires very little in the way of attention--and actually helps me to pay attention better. In school educators refer to these as fidget-toys. Knitting is my fidget-toy.
My husband doesn't always like my methods of fidgeting. If we're watching a movie, he wants to watch it in the dark, which eliminates knitting for the most part. Invariably, I'll end up flicking my fingernails which makes noise and distracts him, or picking at a hangnail or biting my nails which distracts him. If only I had some night-vision goggles....
Friday, August 6, 2010
Ahem.
Sean loves to tell me things, usually long, involved explanations of what happened in Super Mario Bros. Z The Vanishing Island episode. Or something like that. It's great that he wants to share these things, but I rarely know what exactly he's talking about. The worst thing I--or anyone really--can do is to interrupt him or try to get him to wrap it up a little quicker.
"Ahem! I was talking!" or "Ahem! I was not finished!" And then you must wait until he is finished. He's helping train me in patience.
I think "ahem" is his new favorite word. I've suggested to him that when he wants to get my attention to hand me some trash that he wants thrown away, for example, he should say, "Excuse me, would you throw this away please?" Instead I get, "Ahem!"
A short pause.
"Ahem!" If I look this time, he'll point to the trash and say "Ahem!" again.
I usually remind him at that point to use his words.
If I didn't look, I'll get, "Ahem! I'm talking to you!"
Just call him Dolores Umbridge.
"Ahem! I was talking!" or "Ahem! I was not finished!" And then you must wait until he is finished. He's helping train me in patience.
I think "ahem" is his new favorite word. I've suggested to him that when he wants to get my attention to hand me some trash that he wants thrown away, for example, he should say, "Excuse me, would you throw this away please?" Instead I get, "Ahem!"
A short pause.
"Ahem!" If I look this time, he'll point to the trash and say "Ahem!" again.
I usually remind him at that point to use his words.
If I didn't look, I'll get, "Ahem! I'm talking to you!"
Just call him Dolores Umbridge.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
What is autism, mom?
Sean asked me that after I, perhaps unthinking, said "Your autism is showing." We were at an outdoor event at church. Sean had needed to use the restroom so we sent him to the port-a-potties by himself--he'll be 9 next week and this is an area where he is asserting his independence; he does NOT want to be accompanied to the restroom. There was one of those wonderful hand washing stations that have started to accompany outdoor restrooms in the last few years (yay, progress!), and after about 10 minutes of watching him circle the portable sinks perhaps trying them all out but mostly just circling them, I went over to retrieve him.
"Sean. Sean come on we need to go back and sit down. Sean, let's go. Your autism is showing."
Let me back up a bit. Since getting on this roller coaster that is parenthood, and then discovering we get to go on an even BETTER (by roller coaster fans' standards perhaps) roller coaster of parenting a child with autism, my husband and I have taken looks at our own tendencies and behavior and figure we're not too far off the spectrum ourselves. Sean did not fall far from our trees. We're both very introverted and quirky ourselves. It's a phrase we've used with each other when we catch each other withdrawing in a social situation mostly, but on occasion when we're being overly sensitive to something--for me smells can be overwhelming that my husband doesn't even notice, and I need to touch things. Hence, the yarn obsession. If either of us is getting grumpy because being around people has become overwhelming or we're being extra-persnickety, the other might say, "Your autism is showing."
On this day it popped out of my mouth before I thought about what Sean would say. We have talked about what autism means though not at great length and more often to his neurotypical younger sister than to him. On that day I just told him, "Autism is you, Sean. It's the things you do and the way you experience things." I left it at that and let him ponder on it. I think we'll have to have a real, in-depth discussion of autism and what it means to him.
I've been thinking about starting up a blog again for a couple weeks. I don't want to forget all the things Sean says and do. He really is a wonder. If we were fated to have a child with autism, we have been very lucky with Sean. He is relatively easy-going for a child on the autism spectrum. He's just so happy most of the time! He's currently obsessing on Super Mario Bros. , and he's discovered Youtube.com. He could--if we let him--spend all day watching videos of the short-lived 80s Saturday morning cartoon program, videos of tips for playing any of the myriad Super Mario Bros. games, videos of funny cartoons people have made with Mario, Luigi, etc. as the characters.
This morning, I was sitting in the family room sipping my coffee when I heard the unmistakable sounds of a Mario-related video playing on the computer in the office. I went to the door of the office and stood there with my hands on my hips and a pseudo-angry look on my face and said, "Sean Thomas!" He looked up at me and grinned--he can tell when I'm really angry and when I'm going to be funny. "Come here!" I told him. He chuckled and left the computer chair to meet me at the door for a big hug. I carried him--quite a challenge these days--to my chair for snuggles and said, "What do you think you're doing getting on the computer without snuggling with me first? What does the computer have that I don't?" or something to that effect.
"We-ell," he said, drawing out the word as he always does when explaining something that should be obvious, "the computer has videos!"
Indeed. "Well, the computer doesn't love you. Why do you love me, Sean?"
"We-ell," he said again, standing by now several feet away because he can't be still for long, especially if you're trying to have a conversation with him, "because you love me!" With that, he ran to me and launched himself into my arms for another big squeeze. I heart him so much.
The Mario obsession is really wearing on me though; the Star Wars obsession was easier because I like Star Wars. The third season of The Clone Wars can't start soon enough for Sean; I'm going to work through as many of the Star Wars novels as I can find at the local libraries. But I digress. I have discovered one way to use the Mario obsession to my advantage: the star-man music/effect. When Mario gets the star-item/man/whatever in the game, he speeds up superfast. Sean goes around with his toys sometimes singing the music: do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo, do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo. Things move fast if the music is playing. Yesterday, when he was lollygagging instead of getting dressed, I said, "Sean, what if you hit the star-man before you got dressed? How would you get dressed if you had the star-man?" It worked. Speed-dressing to the tune of the star-man: do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo, do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo. It worked at bedtime too. Sometimes these obsessions can annoy the heck out of us, but other times, they provide tools. Tools with annoying music perhaps, but nonetheless tools we can use to make life easier.
"Sean. Sean come on we need to go back and sit down. Sean, let's go. Your autism is showing."
Let me back up a bit. Since getting on this roller coaster that is parenthood, and then discovering we get to go on an even BETTER (by roller coaster fans' standards perhaps) roller coaster of parenting a child with autism, my husband and I have taken looks at our own tendencies and behavior and figure we're not too far off the spectrum ourselves. Sean did not fall far from our trees. We're both very introverted and quirky ourselves. It's a phrase we've used with each other when we catch each other withdrawing in a social situation mostly, but on occasion when we're being overly sensitive to something--for me smells can be overwhelming that my husband doesn't even notice, and I need to touch things. Hence, the yarn obsession. If either of us is getting grumpy because being around people has become overwhelming or we're being extra-persnickety, the other might say, "Your autism is showing."
On this day it popped out of my mouth before I thought about what Sean would say. We have talked about what autism means though not at great length and more often to his neurotypical younger sister than to him. On that day I just told him, "Autism is you, Sean. It's the things you do and the way you experience things." I left it at that and let him ponder on it. I think we'll have to have a real, in-depth discussion of autism and what it means to him.
I've been thinking about starting up a blog again for a couple weeks. I don't want to forget all the things Sean says and do. He really is a wonder. If we were fated to have a child with autism, we have been very lucky with Sean. He is relatively easy-going for a child on the autism spectrum. He's just so happy most of the time! He's currently obsessing on Super Mario Bros. , and he's discovered Youtube.com. He could--if we let him--spend all day watching videos of the short-lived 80s Saturday morning cartoon program, videos of tips for playing any of the myriad Super Mario Bros. games, videos of funny cartoons people have made with Mario, Luigi, etc. as the characters.
This morning, I was sitting in the family room sipping my coffee when I heard the unmistakable sounds of a Mario-related video playing on the computer in the office. I went to the door of the office and stood there with my hands on my hips and a pseudo-angry look on my face and said, "Sean Thomas!" He looked up at me and grinned--he can tell when I'm really angry and when I'm going to be funny. "Come here!" I told him. He chuckled and left the computer chair to meet me at the door for a big hug. I carried him--quite a challenge these days--to my chair for snuggles and said, "What do you think you're doing getting on the computer without snuggling with me first? What does the computer have that I don't?" or something to that effect.
"We-ell," he said, drawing out the word as he always does when explaining something that should be obvious, "the computer has videos!"
Indeed. "Well, the computer doesn't love you. Why do you love me, Sean?"
"We-ell," he said again, standing by now several feet away because he can't be still for long, especially if you're trying to have a conversation with him, "because you love me!" With that, he ran to me and launched himself into my arms for another big squeeze. I heart him so much.
The Mario obsession is really wearing on me though; the Star Wars obsession was easier because I like Star Wars. The third season of The Clone Wars can't start soon enough for Sean; I'm going to work through as many of the Star Wars novels as I can find at the local libraries. But I digress. I have discovered one way to use the Mario obsession to my advantage: the star-man music/effect. When Mario gets the star-item/man/whatever in the game, he speeds up superfast. Sean goes around with his toys sometimes singing the music: do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo, do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo. Things move fast if the music is playing. Yesterday, when he was lollygagging instead of getting dressed, I said, "Sean, what if you hit the star-man before you got dressed? How would you get dressed if you had the star-man?" It worked. Speed-dressing to the tune of the star-man: do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo, do-do-doo-do-doo-di-doodle-doo. It worked at bedtime too. Sometimes these obsessions can annoy the heck out of us, but other times, they provide tools. Tools with annoying music perhaps, but nonetheless tools we can use to make life easier.
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